


The Beauty Within

by meyari



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, apparent character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meyari/pseuds/meyari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Bruce Wayne is driven from his home when a monster attacks and kills his son Jason.  Years later, after he's rebuilt his life, he gets trapped in a blizzard and accidentally encounters the Beast again.  When he plucks a rose that he shouldn't have, a bargain is made: Either Bruce or his son Tim returns to fight the monsters in Wayne Manor or the Beast will kill him.  Finding the secret of the Beast leads to much more than anyone could have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beauty Within

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks go to Batstalker and Kyrdwn for their excellent beta work on this one—you both rock! This story would be much worse without your help, especially given how quickly it poured out of my brain. *huge hugs* Hopefully everyone likes the story!

_"Go! Run!" Jason's order came out choked and painful._

 _Bruce caught Dick's arm, preventing him from running to his adopted brother's side. The Beast had his hand buried in Jason's chest. Blood dripped down the Beast's arm, down Jason's legs, out of his mouth as he clung to both of the Beast's arms. Jason threw an angry, desperate, longing look over his shoulder at Bruce. Sweat poured down Bruce's chest, product not only of the failing battle against the Beast but also of the August heat wave that had come with the monster's arrival in Gotham._

 _"Get out of here!" Jason tried to yell even though he wasn't able to breathe in anything more than tiny gasps._

 _"Jason!" Dick screamed as Bruce dragged him away. "Alfred! Jason!!!"_

 _There were tears on Dick's cheeks as they rode as fast as possible away from Wayne manor. Bruce had tears on his cheeks as well. The laughing roars of the Beast mingled with Jason's final agonizing scream, the sounds searing themselves into Bruce's mind. As they rode rose bushes grew like living animals around them, clawing and grabbing as if to pull them from their horses. When Bruce looked back all he could see was a massive wall of yellow roses. Jason was gone, along with Alfred who had disappeared in the initial attack._

"No!"

Bruce sat bolt upright, his heart pounding so hard that it felt like it would burst through his chest. The sticky heat of that long ago summer day gave way to the chill of his bedroom. Even with the heavy drapes around the great bed and a fire in the fireplace, the castle's room was cold enough for Bruce to see his breath. Moonlight as cold as ice cut across the area rug guarding their feet against the stone floor's chill. The contrast between the sweat-filled heat of his dream and the stone cold chill of the bedroom made it hard to tell which was real for a long moment.

Two bodies bracketed Bruce, warm and comforting as the dream began to fade. On his right Clark mumbled and blinked up at Bruce with sleep-blurry eyes. Selina's eyes were clear and calm as she sat up and sadly wrapped her arms around Bruce's neck. She nuzzled his cheek as the fear and rage of the dream slowly faded back to the normal sorrow he felt at the loss of his second son.

"The dream again?" Clark asked. His hand was warm and comforting on Bruce's back, anchoring him just as Selina's arms did.

"Yes," Bruce sighed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb your sleep."

"We're used to it," Selina said.

She guided Bruce back down to the pillows so that he was cradled between the two of them. In the years since the loss of the manor and Jason's death, many good things had come to Bruce's life. He'd found Selina when he'd moved into the heart of Gotham. Clark had first been a treasured ally and then later had joined Bruce and Selina in their marriage. Bruce was now the acknowledged ruler of Gotham, as little as he wanted that job. He would have preferred to have remained Gotham's Dark Knight forever, but what had to be, had to be. Gotham needed a strong ruler and Bruce was it.

In the aftermath of Jason's death, new life had come to his family. Young Timothy Drake had joined the family after Dick had caught him trying to perform a knight's duties in the poorer parts of Gotham, without the proper training or equipment. Soon after that Stephanie Brown had joined them when Tim had caught her attempting to protect her friends and family in disguise as a knight. They had all been quite surprised to discover that the strong young warrior was actually a woman. Her gender had led to her being tested more harshly than any of Bruce's other children. Despite making some mistakes, Stephanie had shown herself to be a good person and as powerful a knight as any other in Gotham's army. Even after falling in love with Star City's Roy Harper and marrying him, Stephanie had remained one of the strongest of his knights. Becoming Lian's mother had not weakened her fighting spirit. If anything, it has strengthened her drive. Lian had become Bruce's granddaughter and she looked to follow in her step-mother's footsteps as a knight. Most recently, his former lover Talia had revealed Damian, Bruce's only blood son, to them. Damian was an uncomfortable fit in their family but Bruce was confident that in time he would be as much a part of the family as his adopted children.

Clark and Selina returned to sleep, but Bruce lay in bed for a long while, cradled in their arms. He listened to their breathing as he thought about the past, the present and the future. There were so many things that he wished that he could change but there was no changing the past. He could only deal with the present and plan for the future, hoping that he would make better choices than the ones that had resulted in Jason's sacrifice. The night stretched out as he tried to return to sleep. When he finally succumbed to sleep once more, it was restless, full of dreams with Alfred's precise voice and Jason's eyes watching him. He woke many times, though thankfully without the screams that had disturbed his spouses' slumber before.

As dawn turned the bedroom faintly pink and gold, Bruce gave up on sleep and slipped from their bed. The castle was cold and dark. Few servants were awake outside of the kitchens. Rather than disturb anyone else with his restlessness, Bruce went up to the highest tower in his new home, the castle that stood in the center of Gotham City. From the highest window he could just see the roof of Wayne Manor, and despite his limited view, the building didn't appear to have changed.

Around the perimeter of Wayne Manor's grounds stood a magical hedgewall of yellow roses that was over two stories high. The roses gave off pollen that drove men mad with lust. Worse still, the thorns adorning their intertwined stems were toxic in the extreme. One scratch would send a man into a fever that could kill; two scratches would kill the strongest man in a matter of minutes.

Bruce had given orders for everyone in Gotham to stay away from the manor after one too many deaths. It had felt like he was abandoning Jason and Alfred, as well as cutting his ties to his ancestors, however there was little that he could do about it. Every hero and every mage or witch that he had consulted had been unable to pierce the hedgewall. Eventually he had given up and accepted that he would never be able to bury his son or walk the halls of his childhood home again.

"Looks like snow," Tim commented from the doorway. He joined Bruce at the window, gazing at the manor that he had never set foot in.

"Yes," Bruce sighed. "Hopefully it will hold off until I return tonight."

"Are you sure you want to go with so few guards?" Tim asked. "I'd be happy to come with you, sir."

Bruce smiled at Tim and put a hand on his shoulder. Tim ducked his head, his cheeks flushing faintly at the approval. The mission was hardly an important one, as Bruce merely planned to ride out to some of the outlying villages to administer the monthly judgments and hear people's complaints. Frequently he sent Dick or Tim to do it, but Bruce tried to ensure that he hadn't lost touch with his people by going at least a few times a year.

"No, it's not needed," Bruce reassured Tim. "I'll be fine with just a small group. There's nothing on the agenda that worries me, and we won't be gone for more than a few hours, even with the snow."

Tim accepted the reassurance, but later that evening Bruce cursed at himself as he struggled through a blinding blizzard. The snow had fallen all day long, creating a thick blanket of white across the fields. As Bruce and his guards had left the village and headed back to Gotham wind had begun to blow the snow into drifts. The skies overhead were covered by thick clouds that continued to drop more snow, causing darkness to fall more quickly than normal. They had ridden on, sure of their path despite the rapidly closing gloom around them, the blowing snow and the trees that made it hard to stay close to one another.

Bruce didn't know when or where he'd lost his guards. One moment they had been there and the next they were gone, lost in the blizzard. He'd shouted but the howling wind carried his voice away. After a long moment of listening for a reply that never came, Bruce had continued in what he hoped was the correct direction. If he wished to return to his family he had to keep going.

The snow drifts grew as his horse plodded onwards into the wind. After what felt like hours, Bruce had to dismount and break a path for her. Around them, the wind switched direction, blowing them first left, then right. They continued in the direction that Bruce thought was correct, though he was disoriented enough by the storm to be unsure of his sense of direction. To his surprise, he spotted an arch ahead. Bruce stomped through the snow, praying to all the gods that this was the entrance to one of the estates on the edge of Gotham. Frankly though by this point, he would take a cave or monastery or even a ruin if it gave him shelter from the storm.

"Hedge," Bruce panted as he finally broke through the last drift and reached the arch. "Who has hedges in this area?"

He didn't pause, despite his confusion. The cold was getting to him, making it hard to think, to breathe, to move. Bruce struggled forward with his horse's reins wrapped around his fist so that they wouldn't drop out of his numb fingers. Once through the arch, the snow and wind abruptly ceased. Bruce's panting breaths were practically shouts in the quiet. He whirled and stared back at the hedge arch he'd just come through. It was closing up as he watched; the rose vines sealing the hole that had allowed him in.

"No," Bruce breathed.

The slowly blooming yellow roses nodded at him as if to encourage him to go forward. Bruce turned back towards the manor that he knew had to be there, walking through the grounds that he couldn't forget, no matter how long it had been. It was as if the snow couldn't enter here. There was a light dusting on the ground but the grass under Bruce's feet was still green. The air was warm, as if it were early fall instead of the depths of winter.

He followed the winding paths and found himself at the carriage house near the kitchens. Bruce's horse snuffled happily, scenting hay and grain within. The stalls stood empty but perfectly prepared, as if the stable boys had only just finished cleaning them. Total silence echoed around Bruce, broken only by his too-harsh breathing and his horse's contented munching.

Despite the relative warmth, Bruce pulled his coat close as he left the barn and cautiously approached the Manor. It hadn't changed. Even though years had passed and no one had been here to tend to it, his old home looked just as it had the day that Bruce had been driven out. The windows still had the summer drapes. The grass was trimmed to exactly the same level. When he carefully opened the door to the kitchen that had always been Alfred's domain, the same scent of cookies, soup, and rising bread swept over him.

On the kitchen island a tray with a bowl of beef vegetable soup, a mug of hot tea, and a hearty roll fresh from the oven sat waiting for him.

"Alfred?"

Nothing answered Bruce's hesitant call. He hadn't expected there to be a reply but his heart still sank a little when no calm clipped words answered him. Bruce studied the food for a long while and then ate. It didn't seem to be a trap and he needed the food and warmth badly after his battle with the blizzard.

Bruce washed the dishes himself and then went out into the manor to see if he could figure out what had happened to the Beast and to Jason. Everywhere he went he saw Alfred's gentle touch. The rooms were perfectly dusted. Not a single book was out of place in the library. Fires burned quietly in each room he checked. He couldn't find a single thing that was broken or out of place.

"The Beast couldn't have escaped," Bruce muttered as he walked more and more quickly through the perfect rooms of his former home. "Where is he?"

From the attic down to the wine cellar there was no sign of the great Beast who had taken Bruce's son and home. Eventually he went to the door at the far end of the basement that led down to the caves under the Manor. If the Beast hid somewhere in the Manor it would be there. Bruce kept his hand on his sword as he tested the door. To his surprise, the door wouldn't open. No matter how he pushed, kicked or attacked the door, it wouldn't open.

"May a god have sealed you forever under the earth," Bruce murmured at the door that blocked him from the Beast.

He spent the night in the kitchen, sleeping uneasily next to the fireplace. He jolted to awareness dozens of times at creaks and distant sounds that he couldn't identify. Twice he thought he heard roars and smashing glass but when he woke he wasn't sure if the sounds had been in his dreams or in reality. When morning came, there were fresh scones, hot tea, and sausages for him to eat; though Bruce had heard no one in the kitchen with him.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said before he began to eat. He could have sworn that one of Alfred's faint chuckles echoed through the air but no one was there when he turned to look.

After washing his dishes and wrapping up in his coat, Bruce went outside. The storm was over. Bruce could see the opening in the rose hedge. He saddled his horse and slowly led her towards the gap. It hurt to leave his childhood home with no more idea of what had happened to Jason and Alfred than when he'd found his way here but there was nothing else he could do. Without help, there was little chance of his solving the riddle of the Beast's disappearance.

"Maybe this will help," Bruce mused as he carefully plucked one unopened rosebud to bring back to Tim for analysis. If anyone could figure out the riddle of the roses and the Beast, Tim could do it.

"You!"

Bruce's horse suddenly screamed and reared, galloping away through the gap in the rose hedge. Something huge and powerful slammed into Bruce, knocking him to the ground. It smelled hot and bloody, like death, violence and yet somehow like Jason as well. By the time Bruce scrambled back to his feet, the Beast was looming over him with Bruce's sword in its hand. The sword looked like a tiny penknife in comparison to the Beast's claws.

"You dare to steal one of my roses after I sheltered you from the storm, fed you and kept you safe over the night?" the Beast snarled.

Its body was covered in purple-black hair and wounds, fresh and healed, marked its arms and legs. Several on its arms and legs still dripped blood, as if it had only just left a desperate battle. Bruce couldn't see much of the Beast's twisted smile because there was a torn, bloody red cloak wrapped around its head like a hood, obscuring everything other than the evil glow of its eyes. Bruce could only see a hint of a muzzle full of sharp teeth inside the shadows cast by the red hood on the Beast's head.

"I am sorry," Bruce said as he carefully backed towards the gap in the rose hedge. "I thought to bring one rose with me to remember. This used to be my home. I had hoped to give the rose to my son Timothy, so that he would have something from this place that should have been his home too."

The Beast growled, clenching its fist around Bruce's sword. The sword broke as if it was nothing more than a twig. "Greedy, foolish man! I gave you so much this night, protected you from the monsters within and still you want more from me."

"Monsters?" Bruce asked, too stunned to move further towards his route of escape. "I heard nothing, nothing but faint howls and the creak of the manor itself."

"That is because I was here to keep you safe, you fool," the Beast snapped. Bruce could hear the great teeth clack together and shuddered.

"I had hoped that Tim could find a way to defeat the roses," Bruce murmured. He looked down and found that he still held the yellow rosebud in his hand. "We've tried for so long to find a way to come back. I thought that perhaps Timothy could do it."

The Beast huffed at Bruce, more pain than anger in the sound. He turned his great head away to gaze down the long wall of roses. "There is no way to 'defeat' them," the Beast said. "They aren't an enemy. They protect the world from the monsters within these walls. Defeating the roses would mean the doom of the rest of the world. Better to leave it as it is."

Bruce studied the Beast for a long moment, wondering at the almost gentle tone of his voice. This creature didn't seem to be at all like the monster that Bruce remembered fighting those many years ago. The manic laughter and unbelievable violence were gone, replaced by pain, anger, and a sense of loss that made little sense to Bruce. Those thoughts disappeared as the Beast turned back to him, eyes glowing behind the tattered red cloak.

"You've stolen from me," the Beast snarled with a gesture of it's clawed hand at the rose in Bruce's hand, "so now you must repay me. You will stay here and battle the monsters in the manor yourself or I will kill you and feed from your body to gain strength for the war."

Bruce turned and gasped as the gap between the rose hedges began to slowly close. "I can't! I have responsibilities. I have my husband and wife, three children, a grandchild, and all of Gotham to take care of. I'm the King of Gotham. As much as I want to end this, I cannot do it alone."

"Only one person is required end this war," the Beast snapped. "No army can win this battle. Only a single person can stop it and only if they care."

"I don't understand what you want from me," Bruce said, "but I can't abandon my children. They've already lost one brother. I can't leave them without a father."

The Beast winced and a very surprising whine sounded from it. Backing away a step, it rubbed its chest as if it ached. There was a huge scar there, as if someone had once tried to rip the Beast's heart out. Bruce frowned, trying to imagine a creature like the Beast with parents, siblings or children. He couldn't do it, even if this Beast didn't seem to be quite the same Beast as the one he'd fought.

"I don't care," the Beast said when it turned back to Bruce a moment later. "Either you stay, or that genius son of yours returns in your place. One person from your family will come here to stand by my side, or the monsters will be freed and all of Gotham will fall."

"You can't--!" Bruce gasped only to stumble back several steps as the Beast roared.

The hood that covered its face did nothing to hide the great jaw and wicked teeth when the Beast roared. Bruce's heart pounded in his chest as terror welled up with the fresh evidence of how monstrous the Beast truly was. Before he could run, the Beast was there to grab Bruce and lift him off of his feet, its breath fetid and stinking of blood and death.

"Either you stay or your son comes in your place," the Beast growled. "Choose or I kill you now!"

"Please, give me time to say goodbye to my family," Bruce begged. "Let me tell them what happened so that they don't spend their lives worrying and searching for me."

"One week," the Beast growled. His eyes glowed green and then blue as he dropped Bruce back to the ground. "Go and return in one week, or all of Gotham will suffer for your failure."

Bruce turned and ran, the rosebud still clenched in his fist. The rose hedge closed behind him, the thorns snatching at his coat and tearing it. He stumbled out the other side and found his horse waiting for him by a snowdrift nearly as tall as she was. When he mounted and turned to look back at the hedge, the passage he'd gone through was gone and only the snow-covered thorns looked back at him. A roar sounded from the other side of the hedge, startling Bruce and his horse into motion.

He didn't remember the ride home. He didn't remember galloping through Gotham. He only remembered the pain in the Beast's roar and the sure knowledge that his more or less happy life was soon to end. Clark's tearful face was the first thing to bring him out of his daze. Then Selina was there, followed by Dick, Damian, and finally Stephanie, Roy, Lian and Tim.

"Where were you?" Clark asked once they had led Bruce back into the private quarters.

Bruce held the rosebud out to Tim wordlessly. Tim froze and then delicately took it from Bruce's fingers. There was a question in his eyes that hovered on the others' lips. He hesitated for a long moment as he marshaled his thoughts, and then started explaining everything that had happened over the long, strange night in Wayne Manor.

"I only came back to explain," Bruce said once he was done. "I'll be going back. I won't let anyone else take my place. I was the one to took the rose. I'm the one who should return."

"No!" Clark cried, clutching Bruce's shoulders. "Bruce, you can't!"

Selina joined his protests along with everyone else, from Damian on up to the courtiers. Bruce sighed. He would win them over in time. Whatever happened, he would not let Gotham be destroyed by his stupid mistake.

+++++

Tim let out the breath he'd been holding as he snuck out of the tower. His mare was dark, her bridle and gear silenced by strips of fabric wound between the metal pieces. As he carefully rode through town, every sound made him jump and worry. It was the darkest part of the night, when everyone but the guards around the gates slept.

Finding a way through the gates and out into the outer city had taken Tim two days. Two days of fears and worries; two days for Bruce, Clark, and Selina to argue as if they hated each other instead of loving each other. Dick had offered to go. Damian had advocated that they use magic and fire to destroy the entire manor. Steph had clung to Roy and Lian, looking terrified that someone might suggest that she go in Bruce or Tim's place.

Through it all, Tim had made quiet, careful plans to slip away. His apology note was lying on his pillow. The majority of this belongs were still in their places. All he had taken with him was a change of clothing, his two favorite books, and the rosebud that Bruce had picked for him. By the time that Tim had made his careful way through the gates and the rest of the city, dawn was beginning to lighten the sky in the east.

The rose hedge loomed over him as Tim rode slowly along their length. He had no idea where Bruce's passage had been. The roses on this side of the hedge were closed tight against the cold that made his breath steam. As the moments ticked by, and the sky lightened, Tim got more and more nervous. He needed to get through the hedge before Bruce woke and sent men after him. Tim refused to allow Gotham to be destroyed just as Bruce did.

"I'm here," Tim said, carefully holding the rosebud out towards the hedge. "Please let me through. I'm here to keep my father Bruce Wayne's promise."

To his shock, the hedge suddenly rippled. The thorns that threatened death to everyone who came close curled away from him, and a passage opened through the toxic roses. Tim took a deep breath and kneed his mare. She stomped a foot before carefully picking her way through the gap. Once they passed through to the other side the hedge closed back up.

On this side, the roses were blooming as if it was the depths of summer. His mare nickered and nibbled at the bright green grass under her hooves. Tim stared at Wayne Manor, the home that he'd never known. He'd always known that it was huge but the silence around him made the Manor seem even larger than it actually was. He found the carriage house easily enough, settling his mare in one of the stalls. She seemed perfectly content to stay there with the hay, oats and water that some magical entity had prepared for her.

Tim's small bag weighed practically nothing, especially when compared to the weight of the rosebud in his hand. When he entered the kitchen, Tim found tea, scones and ham waiting for him alongside a small vase filled with water. He bit his lip before gently placing the rose into its waiting resting place.

"Thank you," Tim said politely to whoever was watching. He could feel eyes on him though he seemed alone in the room. "I've come to fulfill the promise my father made. My name is Tim, Timothy."

No one answered, so Tim nervously ate the food and drank the tea. By the time he was done dawn had faded into early morning light. The kitchen was still and quiet, but he thought he could hear sounds out in the rest of the manor. The noises sounded like a cross between moans and heavy things being shifted. Hesitant, Tim headed to the doorway.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Tim called.

"You came."

Tim started at the sound of the Beast's voice, his heart pounding in his chest. The Beast's growl was tired, as quiet as if he'd spent hours battling and only just gotten to rest. He leaned against the wall across from the door, clutching a bleeding wound on his arm in a great paw adorned by long claws. Each drop of blood that fell sounded loud in the silence of the great Manor.

"You're hurt," Tim said. The sheer banality of the comment made Tim want to kick himself but there was no taking the words back.

"I'm fine," the Beast barked. He seemed nervous despite his obvious exhaustion and many wounds.

"You're bleeding," Tim snapped back at him. "Come in the kitchen. I'll bandage your wounds."

"I don't need bandages," the Beast growled.

Tim straightened his shoulders and strode over to take the Beast's paw. When he pulled the paw away a set of four deep claw marks were revealed. The Beast winced away from Tim's glare. He didn't fight as Tim pulled him into the kitchen. Between the time he'd gone to the door and then returned with the Beast, an array of bandages, needles and fine silk for stitching wounds had appeared.

The Beast let Tim clean and stitch his wounds, grumbling and wincing at the little needle pricks. Tim ignored his wordless complaints until all of the wounds on the Beast's body had been tended to. He reached up to pull the red cloak away from the Beast's face so that he could check for wounds there, but the Beast knocked Tim from his stool and backed away. The white bandages looked strange against the Beast's dark purple fur.

"No! You're never to touch my face!" the Beast barked.

"You only had to say so. There was no need to hit me."

"Never touch my face," the Beast snarled.

"All right," Tim said, with a nod to show that he understood. "What am I to do now?"

"Do whatever you want," the Beast said. "I don't care."

He stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Tim alone. Tim huffed, as infuriated by the Beast's attitude as by his words. It was hard to tell with the cloak wrapped around the creature, but Tim thought that the Beast had been embarrassed and uncomfortable with Tim's attention. That attitude didn't make sense when compared to his demand for Tim or Bruce to come here.

Tim shook the anger off and turned back to clean up the mess he'd made. It was already gone, the bandages put away and every drop of blood wiped up. He stared, awed that someone could have come and cleaned without his notice. Looking around, Tim wondered if there was more magic to the manor than he'd been told.

"I suppose I might as well explore," Tim said.

He left the kitchen and slowly walked through the manor's main floor, poking his head into room after room. Everything was perfectly tended to. Fires burned brightly in the grates. When he went upstairs he found bedrooms that looked as though their occupants had left just yesterday instead of years ago. Tim lost track of time as he explored the Manor; it felt like minutes, but hours passed. He only realized the passage of time when candles began flaring as he approached them, giving him light so that he could see.

"You shouldn't wander at night," the Beast barked from the door.

"What?" Tim gasped, starting at the Beast's sudden appearance after a day of solitude.

"Come on," the Beast snapped. "There's no time."

"Come where? What's going on?" Tim asked.

"There's no time," the Beast growled at him. He grabbed Tim's arm in his great paw, dragging him from the study and down the hallway at a pace that nearly made Tim run to keep up. "You can't wander around at night. It's dangerous. The monsters would kill you. You have to stay inside. Don't open the door and don't set foot outside until dawn. There's food so you won't starve. Stay put until dawn, and then you can come out again."

He shoved Tim into a bedroom before slamming the door in Tim's startled face. Tim stared at the door with his jaw dropped open for a moment before taking one step closer to it. As he took that step an agonized scream sounded through the Manor, filling the dusk with the sounds of suffering. As the sounds filled the space, he backed up until he was pressed up against the window on the far side of the room.

It wasn't easy to eat the food that had been left for him. While Tim's room seemed to be quiet and safe, he could hear fighting going on outside. There seemed to be at least two voices, both of them very bestial, combined with screams of pain and rage. Between the screams, there were sounds of furniture being smashed, breaking glass and wood splintering. Tim managed to eat half his food. He tried to sleep but could barely manage a light doze given the battle raging outside. Sometimes it sounded as if it was far away, and at other times it sounded as if the monsters were fighting directly outside of his bedroom door.

Tim thought that the bestial laughter was the worst part.

Dawn finally stained the sky pink and gold. The screams changed from two voices to one howling in agony and loss. Tim thought that he had never heard anything so horrible as the howl that echoed through the Manor's halls. He shivered and waited for the Beast to reappear, but nothing happened. To his surprise, he found himself waking several hours later. Tim hadn't intended to fall asleep.

"Nothing is broken," Tim murmured, as he cautiously peered past the bedroom door. "What… what did I hear?"

He turned around, only to find a change of clothes waiting for him on the bed. Tim frowned, and told himself that he was determined to ask questions and get answers from the Beast before the day was through. By the time he got cleaned up and found his way back down to the kitchen, the Beast was there, eating the food that was laid out for them both. The wounds on his arm that Tim had stitched were healed now, but new wounds marked his upper arm and thigh.

"That's what you meant about being fine," Tim commented as he carefully sat next to the Beast. "The wounds change every night."

"Doesn't do any good to bandage them," the Beast grunted.

"Do they hurt?" Tim asked.

"Yeah," the Beast admitted it begrudgingly, his tone tinged by a warning growl.

"Then it does some good," Tim declared with a defiant glare at into the Beast's glowing eyes. They alternated between blue and green, apparently shifting color in time with his emotions.

The Beast snorted but didn't protest as Tim bandaged him up again.

Once he was done tending to the Beast's wounds, Tim ate his breakfast. He tried to ask the Beast questions about why he was there and what he was supposed to do. At first, the Beast only growled at the questions, but when Tim asked about the Beast's past the fragile calm shattered like the pot of tea the creature flung against the far wall.

"Stop asking about things that don't concern you!" the Beast roared.

"It does concern me!" Tim shouted back, despite the way his knees shook. "I can't help if I don't understand!"

The Beast glared at him, and whirled off to disappear into the Manor, leaving Tim to clamp his jaw shut against a shout of fury.

His second day passed much as the first; and it was followed by another night full of the sounds of battle. The third day came and passed the same, different only in the locations of the wounds that Tim stitched on the Beast's battered body. As he explored and slowly memorized the Manor's layout, Tim built a list of things that he was learning about the Beast.

First, there were two Beasts, not one. One came out during the day and occasionally interacted with Tim, though they argued more than anything else. The other came out at night and was apparently the one that had taken the life of Tim's long-lost brother. The Beast that Tim knew was fighting to keep the other monster contained. Some sort of magical servant provided everything that they needed, as well as fixing everything that was damaged during the night or day. If Tim broke a glass, it was repaired as soon as he turned his back.

The days turned into weeks. Every day Tim would change the water for the rosebud Bruce had given him. It slowly bloomed, seeming to grow as Tim's knowledge of the Manor did. For example, certain doors seemed to be locked. The door leading to the basement wouldn't yield to Tim's touch, nor would several doors on the first and third floors. Tim didn't know what that meant. One room that surprised Tim was the training room that he found in the far wing on the first floor. It was filled with everything he needed to retain his knightly skills.

"Didn't know you fought," the Beast commented a couple of hours after Tim started working out with a practice sword made of heavy wood.

"Of course," Tim said. "I'm one of the Knights of Gotham."

"Still have knights, do they?" the Beast asked. He sounded as if the thought gave him hope.

"Yes," Tim said, pushing himself through a set of exercises that he'd yet to master. He wasn't sure what to make of the question so he ignored it. He needed to focus anyways, as he had yet to make it through the set without making mistakes.

"Tch," the Beast clucked his tongue in a sound that seemed absurd coming from such a creature. He came over and delicately adjusted Tim's grip on the sword, correcting the mistake that Tim hadn't been aware of. "Try again."

Tim studied him and then repeated the series, smiling at his improvement. The Beast watched and nodded. Eventually he moved opposite to Tim and gestured for him to attack. They sparred, dancing forwards and back across the chalked out practice ring. The Beast was far faster and stronger than Tim was but he held his strength back so that Tim could practice properly.

"Thank you," Tim panted once he'd reached the point where he had to stop or collapse.

"You're welcome," the Beast said, obviously uncomfortable at receiving thanks. "What do you do all day?"

"Explore," Tim sighed. He put the practice sword away and then toweled the sweat off. "I brought two books but I've read them so many times that there's little point anymore. I've all but memorized them."

"You like books?" the Beast asked while adjusting his cloak to hide his face more thoroughly.

"Very much so," Tim said through his tunic as he pulled it over his head. "If I weren't a Knight, I'd be a scholar."

"Come on," the Beast said.

He led the way to one of the doors that Tim hadn't been able to open. Tim thought that the Beast looked nervous as he unlocked and then pushed the doors open for him. Inside was a library the likes of which Tim had only dreamed of. At some point someone had taken a ballroom and converted it into the emporium of knowledge that stood before him, every wall covered by bookshelves, from the floor to the ceiling two stories above them. In the center of the room stood more stacks of books, with comfortable chairs and a large fireplace that radiated warmth into the room.

"This is incredible!" Tim laughed. "The college doesn't have this many books!"

"You like it?" the Beast asked, as if he had no idea why anyone would want to spend time reading.

"Yes!" Tim exclaimed.

The Beast shuffled his feet and his fur bristled. He reached out and ran the back of one claw over Tim's cheek in a gesture that Tim couldn't quite interpret. From a human it would be tender, wondering, but coming from the Beast it seemed almost threatening. When he pulled the paw back, Tim caught his hand, letting his own rest in the Beast's palm. It dwarfed his hand so much that Tim's seemed like a toddler's compared to the Beast's paw.

"It's yours then," the Beast said and shrugged. "Never had any used for the books. I can't turn the pages."

"Then I'll read to you," Tim offered. "Pick a book and I'll read it aloud."

The Beast's breath caught in his chest. This time Tim was certain that the Beast felt something more than annoyance or impatience with him. He could feel how the Beast's hand shook. After a moment, the Beast nodded and led Tim over to a bookcase close to the fireplace. He pointed out one book in particular, an old leather-bound book of ancient legends. The Beast’s eyes cycled between blue and green, finally settling in on blue.

"That one?" The Beast asked, sounded nervous and hesitant.

"That one it is," Tim declared. "Come on. Let's sit by the fire and I'll read the stories to you."

Tea appeared for them both as they settled down to read and listen. Tim gladly read the old legends, doing his best to hide his sense of unease at some of the stories. The story of the Laughing Joker sounded far too like the monster that had killed Jason Todd, and the story of the Goddess of the Ivy made Tim think of the rose hedge around the Manor.

When evening crept up on them, the Beast let Tim take several books with him to his room. He set the books next to the vase holding the magical rosebud Bruce had given him. His rosebud had bloomed into fullness during the last few weeks. It was the most beautiful rose that Tim had ever seen. Tim gently caressed one petal before beginning to read his borrowed books while listening to the sounds of battle outside. The monster's laughter seemed worse than normal, as did the Beast's howls of lonely pain. The next day he and the beast practiced together and they read together for several hours, filling the Manor's silence with stories.

Despite the progress, they still fought nearly every time that they interacted, much to Tim's dismay. The Beast's temper was a chancy thing. Any word or look could set him off though he never struck Tim or hurt him in any way. Tim learned to be wary when the Beast's eyes glowed green. When his eyes were blue the Beast seemed to be much kinder and gentler, though still quite dangerous.

Tim came to cherish those times when the Beast was in his gentle mode. One day they wandered the gardens behind the Manor, finding lilies in bloom in the pond. Frogs hopped away, croaking indignantly, when Tim tried skipping rocks across the surface of the water. The Beast laughed his rusty laugh and failed entirely to skip his stone. His claws made it impossible, though he was able to delicately fish a coin out of the water, offering it to Tim to examine. It was so old that Tim thought it must have been tossed into the pond in his great grandparent's days. He flipped it back into the pond, wishing desperately for some idea of why he was there.

During a good time on another day, the Beast held Tim up so that he could pick apples from the orchard trees near the kitchen. The seasons within the rose hedge appeared to have little to do with the seasons outside of it. It was midsummer outside but here, in the magic envelope surrounding the manor, it was fall. Tim smiled at the pink-kissed green apples that he'd gathered, offering one to the Beast to enjoy. The Beast refused to eat his apple while Tim watched but the crunch that came when Tim turned his back to pretend to study a shrub made him smile, as did the little whine of happiness and lip smacking sounds the Beast made.

Little moments of quiet joy came to define Tim's time in the Manor, though they were always bracketed by the moments of furious fear when the Beast's eyes flared green. They could be talking together quietly and then the green flared up and the Beast would snap at Tim, saying cruel things just to get a reaction from him. Tim rarely managed to control his temper when those times came. More often than not, the Beast would fling something at the wall while Tim yelled at him. They stormed away from each other to sulk in silence until the scent of food drew them back to the kitchen that was their true home in the heart of the huge empty manor.

Every night Tim took books with him to his bedroom where the rose waited to keep him company. After a few days, Tim could tell that the magical servant was rearranging things again. One night he had taken a book on the Wayne family history, but when he checked his stack of books instead there was a book about ancient, deadly curses. Tim took the switch as guidance, and spent the night reading the book from cover to cover, along with the other books that had been slipped into his stacks.

There was so much to learn. If Tim was right then the Beast that had killed Jason Todd actually was the Laughing Joker. He found it quite frightening to think that the Joker was a real entity, not a mere legend. The truth was that it was as real as Tim, and it had to be the creature that the Beast fought every night. The worrying problem that Tim unearthed in his research was that the Joker could infect other creatures. Its madness slowly took over their bodies, transforming them into new versions of it.

"He's going to become a Joker," Tim whispered, several nights later. "If I don't stop it, the Beast will become like that monster, and they'll escape together to infect the rest of Gotham."

He could see it. Every day in the morning the Beast was sharp and hostile, his eyes flaring green far more than blue. Tim could track how the Beast's body was slowly growing more purple fur. His claws were growing longer every night, as was the Beast's tail. It had been short, no more than a hand’s length when they met, but after several months it was nearly as long as Tim's forearm. As it grew and the Beast's fur shifted more and more to purple, his patience fell and his cruelty grew.

In the beginning, by evening the Beast would calm and his eyes would be blue, but now the green was more and more prevalent. The only thing that would slow the Joker and the Beast down would be the rose hedge.

"The roses," Tim murmured as he read a supplied book about the various goddesses of the earth. "They're a gift of the Goddess of the Ivy. I think the Beast was trying to give me hints with that first book."

One story in the book had spoken of a time when the Goddess of the Ivy had granted a good Mage's wish. She had given the Mage protection in the form of a wall of poison ivy that kept a marauding horde from killing him. The rose hedge was much the same sort of thing, only with deadly flowers instead of poison ivy. He looked out the window at the distant bulk of the rose hedge and then back at his books. One petal dropped off of his rose, settling to Tim's desk. It filled Tim with an odd feeling of exhaustion, as if he'd been fighting for weeks and simply didn't have the strength to continue on. Tim stared at it and then a faint breeze came from nowhere, flipping a page to show the Laughing Joker infecting another person.

"I'm running out of time," Tim whispered.

He picked up the rose petal, convinced of the veracity of the grim statement even though he had no data to confirm his intuition. Despite his tendency to want information to base all his decisions, Tim knew that this was a case where he would have to act despite inadequate data. Still, there was one fact that he couldn't proceed without.

"What kills the Joker?" Tim murmured. "There has to be something that will kill it."

He didn't say that it had to be something that would spare the Beast. Tim wasn't ready to admit aloud that his heart had long since fallen for the Beast's strange combination of violence and caring shyness. There had to be a way to kill the Joker while leaving his Beast intact. Hopefully, there would be a cure for the Beast in the books somewhere.

Petals fell day by day, as Tim frantically studied books and searched for an answer to his question. The only thing that he could find that would kill a Joker was a silver knife to the heart, but Tim had yet to find any knives made of silver in the Manor. He was served on ceramic plates and ate with golden utensils. There had to be silverware somewhere in the Manor for Bruce had mentioned his mother's silver service before Tim came here but Tim couldn't find it anywhere.

As the days and battle-filled nights sped by, the Beast spent less and less time around Tim. He seemed to view Tim's questions and reading as a threat. Every morning he was more reluctant to let Tim tend to his nightly injuries. Whenever Tim pulled away to return to his books, the Beast responded waspishly, snapping and snarling at Tim. When only two petals remained on the rose, he gave up on finding a different way of dealing with the Joker, and began searching for something silver to kill the Joker and, if necessary, the Beast. None of the rooms of the Manor had any silver in them.

He started in the attic, going through every box and trunk that filled the dim room. Every single room that he could enter was searched as well, the invisible servant tidying up after Tim's increasingly frantic riffling. Tim ended up in the kitchen just before dinnertime. The Beast seemed to have been and gone already as there were broken dishes in one corner of the room, shards mixed in with half-eaten food.

"There has to be something I can use," Tim sighed as he picked up the broken plate's pieces. "I can't let the Joker win. I have to save the Beast."

A breeze gusted over Tim's cheek. He froze and turned towards the breeze, setting the broken plate down. He thought that the breeze was directing him towards one corner of the kitchen. In that corner was an old shelf covered with spices and canning jars full of fruit and vegetables. The breeze ghosted over his cheek again, encouraging him forward. Once standing in front of it, Tim frowned. There were scratch marks on the floor in front of the shelves as if something had been dragged in an arc like a door.

"This…" Tim murmured and then stopped.

He grabbed one side of the shelf and tugged. Nothing happened. He moved to the other side and tugged on that. The shelf shifted towards him. Tim grinned and pulled as hard as he could. The shelf slowly slid like a door, opening up a back pantry that Tim had never realized was there. Silver plates and knives were displayed prominently on one countertop. One long, heavy silver carving knife, sharp enough to plunge strait into the Beast's chest, lay in front of him; glittering like both a promise and a threat.

"This is what I need, isn't it?" Tim whispered as he picked up the knife. "This is what will kill the Joker."

Tim hurried back to his room with the knife, praying that he wouldn't see the Beast and at the same time hoping that he would. They hadn't spoken in days, not since the number of petals left on Tim's rose had dropped to five. At the same time, he was grateful when he made it to his room without seeing the Beast. This would be hard enough without having to explain the knife to him.

Tim waited and paced throughout the night, listening to the battles between the Beast and the Joker. It seemed to him that the battles were far more desperate than they had been. Tim waited until the battles moved downstairs, away from his room; until dawn had turned the sky ever so faintly pink in the east. When he stepped outside, he saw why the Beast had insisted that Tim remain in his room every night.

Each picture and rug in the hallway had been smashed or torn. Many panels along the wall had been bashed in as if someone had been thrown nearly through them. As he went down the stairs towards the basement, he saw the damage being repaired for the first time. Spindles that had been broken from the stair's railing drifted back into place as the top plate moved to secure them. Rugs knit themselves back together. Broken mirrors floated back into place and slowly merged back to wholeness.

Tim moved more quickly as the sky got brighter. He followed the trail of destruction down the stairs and then into the basement. At the far end of the room, he found another door that he had never been able to open before. This time it was ajar ever so slightly, as if someone had hurried through it and failed to secure it properly.

"I'm coming Beast," Tim whispered, carefully winding down the stone stairs that looked as though they'd been carved from the living rock. "Be strong. This won't go on any longer."

He could hear the squeaks and rustling sounds of bats as he progressed, faint over the moans and whimpers that echoed through the caves below. Tim knew the sounds of those whimpers. They came from the Beast. He'd heard the Beast whimper just like that when Tim tended the worst of his battle injuries. The moans were unfamiliar, deeper and darker somehow. Every moan ended in a wheezing laugh, as if the Joker were amused by his pain but didn't have enough breath to laugh properly.

At the base of the stairs, he hesitated and then peered around the corner. The cave beyond was huge, with the far side shadowed. He could see water falling across the way, and he was surprised by the faint light that filtered through the cavern. There was no sunlight that he could see, but moss covered the walls, giving off phosphorescence that let Tim spot something that made his heart stop in his chest.

He'd expected to see the Beast restraining the Joker. That made sense of what he'd heard every night. What he saw instead made him gasp and stare when he should have charged straight ahead. The Beast looked like a man, a man with dark hair and a white streak that Tim recognized from paintings of Jason Todd. His scarred body looked as though it was halfway through the transition into becoming a Joker. The Joker's face was split by a scarlet smile studded with sharp, dagger-like teeth. The Joker started laughing with delight when he spotted Tim.

"Another toy!" the Joker giggled. "Just a couple days and we'll be playing, little Knight."

"Get out of here, Tim!" Jason shouted.

Precious seconds passed as Tim stared in horror. Jason pinned the Joker, the pressure of his arms making the Joker wheeze and moan again. The giggles didn't stop, even as Jason slowly merged into the Joker's body, becoming the Beast that Tim was familiar with. Tim stared, realizing that he'd made an assumption that he shouldn't have. The Beast didn't restrain the Joker during the day: He became the Joker, merging nearly completely with the monster and controlling him from within.

In a matter of seconds, the Beast had merged almost fully with the Joker. The only part of Jason that showed was the right side of his face around his eye and the white streak in his hair. On the right side his eye was blue but on the left it was evil, glowing green. The distorted scarlet grin with far too many teeth leered, stretched from one side of the Beast's head to the other. It was a terrifying display of just how close the Joker was to winning against Jason.

"I told you to get out of here," the Beast panted as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. His body looked so much more like the Joker's animalistic form than the scarred human one that he'd seen on the Beast. "This… hehehehe… isn't safe for you."

"You're Jason Todd," Tim said. He stepped forward, the knife held behind his body. "Everyone thought you were dead. I thought you were dead."

"Jason Todd is dead," the Beast said with a giggle that made his eyes flare green. "He's not here anymore. There's only the two of us, and soon you'll be in here too."

The Beast jerked and staggered as his eyes went blue, then red, then blue again. When Tim took another step forward the Beast growled, rage twisting his distorted face. Tim didn't let the sight stop him; he kept approaching, watching for the flare of green that would precede an attack. After the last several weeks of sparring with Jason he was fairly certain that he would know when the Beast, or more accurately the Joker, was about to attack.

"You… need… to get… out of… here," the Beast panted. Tim was almost in range. "C-can't hold… him… well… in the… mornings."

"My little playmate gets tired in the mornings," the Joker laughed, his eyes going green as he took control of their body. "He's going to be gone soon but that's okay. I'll get to play with you, little Knight. I've never been in that bedroom of yours. We'll have to play there, lots and lots and lots. I'll be careful this time. I won't let you inside. We'll play different games, ones that let me keep my playmate for longer."

From the way the Joker thrust his hips it was perfectly obvious to Tim what he intended to do. Tim didn't let it stop his slow approach. He held out a hand as if to try and bring the Beast, Jason, back. The extended hand made the Joker's eyes go wide with demented amusement. He laughed and then gasped as Jason wrestled control back from the Joker. His eyes were bright blue and utterly desperate.

"Please," Jason begged, "Go!"

"No," Tim said. "I won't. Let him take control, Jason. Trust me. I won't let this go on any longer. Let me help you."

Jason's part of the Beast's face twisted with shock while the Joker's stretched into a grin that nearly split his head in half. Their eyes flashed back and forth between blue and green. As Jason and the Joker struggled for control of their shared body, Tim took several steps closer. At the last second, Jason wailed and the Joker took control.

"Mine now!" the Joker laughed. "I finally get to play!"

"No. You're mine, and we'll play my game, not yours," Tim replied grimly.

He swung the knife around and slashed a hole in the Joker's gut. The Joker screamed, clutching the wound which smoked and sizzled as if Tim had used a red-hot poker. Tim refused to allow himself to think about what that had felt like for Jason. The Joker had to die. One way or the other, he had to die. If the Gods were kind then Jason would survive when Tim killed the monster. If not, then at least Jason would be free from the torment he'd been enduring all these years.

The Joker swung a great clawed paw at Tim. Tim ducked and blocked with the silver knife. Another scream echoed through the cave along with the sounds of flesh sizzling. Tim lunged at the Joker, whispering prayers under his breath as he tried to get close enough to stab the Joker in the heart. Jason's portion of the Beast's face looked as though it was asleep, single eye shut and face peaceful. Tim took several slashes from the Joker's claws as he fought. Tim ignored them utterly, focusing on the battle rather than any of the emotional or physical pain he felt.

"I'm sorry!" Tim shouted as he finally saw the opening he'd been waiting for.

He dove into the Joker's arms, thrusting the knife straight into the monster's chest. The Joker screamed and flailed at Tim, knocking him across the cave and into the wall. Tim's head hit the stone so hard that he saw stars and heard a crunch. As he slid down the wall towards the floor, he watched the Beast. The Joker half of the Beast was screaming and flailing as his body burst into flames around the knife. Jason's one eye was locked on Tim as their shared body rippled and contorted around the silver carving knife sizzling in their chest. The fire consuming the Joker flared so brightly that Tim had to shut his eyes. It was a mistake.

Unconsciousness captured Tim before he could open his eyes again. When he came to it felt as though he'd been out for a while, perhaps a very long time. The phosphorescence of the cave gave him no clue as to how much time had passed. Tim raised his head and shuddered at the pain that lanced through his skull. He must have endured a concussion or perhaps a cracked skull.

Two bodies lay in the middle of the cave. One was a charred, hulking husk, with a silver knife glinting in its chest. The other was a naked man, covered in scars and bloody wounds that no longer seemed to be seeping blood. Tim scrambled to his hands and knees, crawling to Jason's side. The pain in his head was so severe that he didn't think he could stand without help. There was a deep cut on Jason’s chest in the exact same place that Tim had stabbed the Joker.

"No," Tim whimpered. Jason wasn't moving, wasn’t breathing. "No! No, no, no! Jason!"

His hands shook as he checked Jason's pulse. It wasn't there. Tim could hear pleading, a voice begging for Jason to breathe, to live, to be okay. He started crying, unable to bear the thought that he'd killed Jason, his Beast, at the same time that he'd killed the Joker. It seemed like the worst sort of joke, the sort of thing that the Joker himself would have approved of.

"You can't be dead!" Tim cried as he hit Jason in the center of his chest. "I didn't get to tell you that I love you!"

Tim rubbed his aching head, his hand resting over Jason's still body. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right; but there wasn't anything he could do about it. As Tim wrestled with the tears still creeping down his cheeks, and the pain in his heart that he had fallen in love and would never be allowed the chance to express that love even once, the more logical and controlled side of his mind was plotting how to carry Jason's body back upstairs. He would need to get Jason's body through the rose hedge, if it was still standing. It might not be with the Joker dead. Either way, Tim would not leave Jason's body here to rot next to the corpse of the Joker. He deserved better than that, a proper funeral and a grave that the whole family could visit. The thought made more tears creep down Tim's cheeks.

A breeze ghosted past Tim's cheek, carrying with it the scent of scones and tea, fresh air and life. Tim fought the urge to break down entirely, gently caressing Jason's chest. He'd never get to share another meal with his Beast. There would be no more arguments or quiet moments, no more reading aloud while his Beast read over his shoulder. Everything was over.

Jason's body twitched.

Tim gasped and pulled back, staring at Jason. A long moment went by and then Jason twitched again. He gasped for air, one arm slapping against the stone floor as if his body wasn't familiar to him. Tim caught Jason's hand, clutching it to his chest. Jason coughed and curled into a ball, putting his head in Tim's lap.

"You're alive," Tim whispered once Jason was breathing properly again. "I thought I killed you. You're alive."

"Told you to run," Jason pretended to grumble. It came out more like a tired sigh. "Could still get you."

"No, I don't think so," Tim replied. "It's over, Jason. It's finally over."

He looked over at the Joker's charred hulk. It took a moment for Jason to lift his head so that he could look in the same direction. Tim felt Jason's start of surprise. As Jason struggled to sit up, Tim assisted him, propping him up so that Jason could see for himself that it truly was over at last. Jason stared at the Joker's corpse for a long moment and then turned his gaze back to Tim.

"Thank you," Jason whispered.

He grabbed Tim and hugged him so tightly that Tim's cuts, bruised ribs, and concussed skull protested. Tim hugged back just as hard. They held each other for a long while that felt like both an eternity and only a few seconds to Tim. Eventually, Jason's blood from the many cuts crossing his body soaked into Tim's clothes enough that he pulled back and made a little huffing noise.

"We need to get these wounds taken care of," Tim said. "You won't heal overnight anymore."

"Need to get your head taken care of too," Jason replied. He gently touched Tim's forehead, his fingers coming away bloody.

They supported each other as they struggled up the stairs to the manor. When they opened the door into the basement, both of them started. An older man stood there, smiling gently at them both. Jason laughed as if he was astonished, his face lighting up in delight.

"Alfred?" Jason asked. He caught Alfred's shoulder, laughing shakily. "I thought you left or something."

"I have been here all along, Master Jason," Alfred said. "I could not leave you here to fight alone, after all. The Goddess of the Ivy allowed me to craft the rose hedge to protect you and I used my magic to stay here to serve you."

"You're the one who fed us and fixed everything," Tim said. His tone of voice turned the statement into a question that made Alfred smile at him.

"Of course, Master Timothy," Alfred said. "Come, let us go to the kitchen and you can eat as I tend to your wounds. It shouldn't be too much longer before Masters Bruce, Clark, and Mistress Selina should be here with your brothers and sister."

Once they returned to the kitchen, Tim looked out the window and gasped. The rose hedge that had hidden Wayne Manor from the world was gone. He could see all the way from the Manor to the stone walls around Gotham City. Alfred stitched and bandaged Jason's wounds first before tending to Tim's head. Tim had a small scalp cut and a concussion, which made it hard for him to think as clearly as he wanted to. After they had been cleaned up, Alfred produced clean clothes for Jason and Tim. He then insisted that they eat the meal that he'd prepared for them.

"Ah, I see that Master Bruce has returned," Alfred said while cleaning up the dishes. "I would suggest going out to greet them. I'm sure that they will be glad to see you both."

Tim laughed quietly at the order that wasn't really an order, and took Jason's hand, tugging him along behind when Jason hesitated. It wasn't just Bruce. Clark was there in his bright armor, along with Selina in her darker armor and cloak. They'd brought Dick and Stephanie in their Knight's armor, along with Roy in his red archer's garb. Gotham's army followed Bruce, the warrior's faces grim under their helmets. Tim spotted Princess Diana and her lover Steve on one side, as well as Roy's adopted father Oliver in green archery gear on the other. His regiments of archers walked with their bows at the ready, bright eyes searching for any sign of the monster that had haunted the manor.

Jason's hand clenched around Tim's as they walked forward to greet the others. Bruce's eyes locked onto Tim's face for a moment, taking in the bandage around his head and then went to Jason. Tim could see the moment where Bruce's famous control cracked. He flung himself off his horse and ran over to hold them both tightly.

"Easy," Jason said. "Tim's got a concussion."

"And you're covered with wounds," Tim huffed at him.

"What happened?" Bruce demanded. His eyes shone with tears that Tim knew Bruce would never allow to fall.

The rest of the family crowded close to hear what Jason and Tim had to say. Clark hovered behind Bruce with an enormous grin, but Dick charged straight over to hug them both at once. Jason laughed and gruffly pushed Dick away. The next few minutes were a blur of hugs, laughter, tears and Tim's head throbbing more and more with each passing moment. It didn't take long before Jason growled at the others and insisted that they go inside, where, to Tim surprise, Bruce openly hugged Alfred. Alfred took the hug calmly, though there was a faint bit of color on his cheeks.

By the time that night fell, Tim was more than ready for some peace and quiet. After so long with only his Beast as company, this many people were overwhelming. They had told their stories, separately and together, enough times that Tim thought that he had everything memorized. Once the impromptu celebration wound down, Tim slipped away to the library. It still felt like a haven to him, even with all of the people filling the Manor with voices and sounds of habitation.

"Thought you were heading to bed," Jason said, his head poking up from their favorite spot by the fireplace. He was holding the book of legends that he'd first asked Tim to read for him.

"I was," Tim said. He sat next to Jason, scooting close enough that Jason shuddered. "It feels strange to have other people here. I'm used to it just being us."

"Suppose you'll want to get back to your normal life," Jason murmured while running a thumb over the spine of the book.

"No," Tim replied. "I was thinking of staying with you."

Jason shuddered again, licking his lips while looking at Tim out of the corner of his eye. Tim let a smile curl his lips. He took the book and set it aside before turning to Jason so that they could look directly at each other. When Tim ran his fingers over Jason's cheek, tracing the faint scars there, Jason moaned; the sound low and quiet in his throat.

"I don't know how you feel," Tim murmured, "but I came to… care about you… while we were alone. I thought I lost you. I don't want to lose you again."

"Care?" Jason asked. His pulse was visibly pounding at his throat and temple. Tim could see nervousness and hope in Jason's eyes.

"Love," Tim whispered. "I love you. I loved you as my Beast. I love you as Jason. I want to stay with you, no matter where you decide to go."

Jason groaned. He pulled Tim into his arms for a kiss that started out awkward with bumping noses, and then went tender, urgent and needy once they figured out the proper angles and positions. Tim moaned at how Jason felt in his arms. Unfortunately, the pounding in his head made him pull back far sooner than he wanted to.

"Didn't think anyone could have loved me," Jason whispered, his voice huskier than it had been as the Beast.

"I did," Tim said. "I do."

"Guess I can stick around," Jason chuckled fondly. "If you'll have me."

"Now and forever," Tim laughed just as fondly. "For as long as you'll have me in return."


End file.
